


Home for Christmas

by Jackie Thomas (Jackie_Thomas)



Category: The West Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:05:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackie_Thomas/pseuds/Jackie%20Thomas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can see why you might think he was dead, the way he smells at the moment but he’s not.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home for Christmas

Josh was contemplating the winking lights of the plastic mini Christmas tree Donna had made him take home and looking forward to a quiet Christmas Eve when his cell phone rang.

He reached for it and smiled when he saw the name scrolling across the screen.

Sam.

“Tis the season to be JOLLEE!”

Not Sam.

Someone at whatever party Sam was at had obviously got hold of his phone.

A gruff, drunken voice slurred and bellowed into his ear. “Trally trally trally la la la!”

“Yeah, thanks buddy. Is Sam there?”

“Sam’s a great guy.”

“I know. Is he –?”

“Trally trally trally trally la la la!”

He hung up. Sam had gone home to California for Christmas and although it had been a last minute decision it seemed to have been a good one, as he appeared to be having some well-deserved fun.

Josh went to the window. Snow had been forecast and he drew up the blinds to see it start to fall in silvery flakes. While he was watching and wondering whether to open a bottle of wine his landline rang. 

“Tis the SEASON to be jollee. La la la la la la TUM tum tum. Oh yeah.”

He held the receiver away from his ear. He could almost smell the alcohol fumes. Someone was working his way through Sam’s speed dial numbers.

“Who is this?” He asked as the man muttered to a halt.

“My name is Gary,” said the singer with a drunk’s precise pronunciation. “And you are ‘Josh-home’. Someone called Toby-cell was extremely rude to me just now.”

Josh could well imagine. He hung up as Gary launched into another chorus. He would have liked to talk to Sam but that was clearly not to be.

It was not that they had parted on bad terms. Quite the opposite in fact. They were going out of their way to be friendly to each other. But there was a mutual freak-out underway and it would have been good to keep in touch.

There had been a kiss. Just one unintended kiss and it had shifted Josh’s world on its axis. It had happened on a clear icy night when the moon had been full and wide and luminescent.

The city had been silent, the troubles of the world had been far away at the bottom of a bottle of champagne and DC had become the most beautiful place on earth.

And Sam, with bowtie loose and a sprig of holly in the buttonhole of his coat was, at that moment, the most beautiful man.

It had been one kiss, a brush of lips, over before it began and it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world. But afterwards Josh was not at all sure how he felt about it.

On the next day nothing was said. And nothing was said on the day after that. On the day after that Sam said he might go away over Christmas and Josh said he thought it was a good idea because Sam could use a break. But now, he put his fingers to his lips and wished Sam had stuck around.

While waiting to see if Gary wanted to call back for another chorus he noticed a new message on the answering machine. The message ran, “Hi Josh, its Jack Seaborn, Sam’s dad. I can’t get hold of him. If he calls you can you tell him some damn drunk’s got his phone. Oh yeah and tell him I’ve got the Holy Grail. It’s a piece of crap but he needs to come by and get it.”

Josh was trying to understand this perplexing message when his cell phone rang again. This time it was an unknown number.

“Josh?” said a familiar voice against a background of traffic noise.

“Hey Sam. Are you missing a mythological artefact?”

“What? No. I’ve got a huge favour to ask you.”

“Anything Sam, what is it?”

“Can you come and get me from the airport?”

“Sure, on Friday. I already said I would.”

“No now.” There was a sound of change clattering into a payphone.

“You’re back in DC. How come?”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

Josh reached for his jacket. “I’m on my way. Where will you be?”

“I’m at the Arrivals pick-up bay.”

“So go inside. It’s snowing.”

There was a dignified pause. “I’ve been invited by Security to leave the Arrivals area.” Before Josh could splutter out his outrage Sam said, “It is a very long story and I’d really appreciate it if –“

“On my way.” Josh got the message and hung up.

The person waiting for Josh in the scant shelter of the airport pick-up and drop-off area was a version of Sam Josh could hardly recognise. He had lost the overcoat and suitcase he had had with him when he left just yesterday and was wearing only an alarmingly stained and battered suit. He still had his tie on but it was marked with what looked like blood. His hair was damp and dirty, flattened in some places and sticking up in others. The worst of it though was a bright shining black eye.

“Jesus,” Josh exclaimed after he had taken in the whole sorry picture. “You were going on holiday.”

Sam shivered violently in reply, shaking off a dusting of snow which had been settling on him. Josh opened the car door and he got in without a word.

Soon after he started driving Josh began to notice an extremely unpleasant smell. It took him longer to accept the almost unbelievable fact that the smell was emanating from Sam.

“It’s all right,” said Sam quietly. “You can open the window.”

And really there was nothing else to do. He lowered the window and the temperature plummeted as gusts of freezing air blew in. Sam sighed and opened his window causing a welcome through-current

“What,” Josh asked, breathing through his mouth. “Do you smell like?”

“Homeless drunk person with a gastric disorder,” Sam said.

“There was a homeless drunk person at your mother’s house?”

He shook his head sadly. “Not even my mother was at my mother’s house.”

“Where was she?”

“On a Caribbean cruise.”

“She didn’t think to mention that to you before you came out to visit her?”

“No.” Sam pulled up the collar of his buttoned up jacket and shivered again. “But to be fair she did leave a note pinned to the front door.”

“And what -?”

“I’m on a Caribbean Cruise. Let yourself in.”

“So that was succinct.” A pungent whiff of Sam reached Josh. “But instead you jumped in a dumpster?”

“No. I tried to let myself in but my key didn’t work. She must have changed the lock when my dad moved out.”

“So you jumped in a dumpster?”

“No. I went round to the back of the house to get in through the kitchen window. That’s what I used to do when I was a teenager and I wanted to sneak in.”

“Uh huh.”

“Evidently she’s upgraded her security since then. Because this set off some kind of alarm at the local police station.”

“Shit.”

“I’m actually quite impressed at the speed they arrived.”

“But you explained who you were?”

“I did. And they arrested me and took me to the police station.”

“They didn’t believe you?” Josh was genuinely astonished. 

“Well, I think they would have believed me if it wasn’t for Mrs Palacsinta from next door.”

“Palac-?”

“It’s a Hungarian pancake. I’ve known her all my life. But she’s about 104 and her memory isn’t what it was and she identified me as a man she’s been convinced has been stalking her for the last few years. They really didn’t have a choice but to arrest me.”

Josh cursed sympathetically as he concentrated on driving through the increasingly heavy snow.

“It wasn’t a bad cell either,” Sam mused. “Though it was kind of crowded with twelve of us.”

“They actually locked you up. Is this where you met your homeless guy?”

“Not so much met him as found him asleep on my arm.”

“Is that why you’ve got a stain on your –?”

“Shoulder yes.”

“Was his name Gary by any chance?”

Sam stared at him. “How did you know that?”

“He’s got your phone, man.”

“Ah,” Sam said bleakly. He watched as they turned into Josh’s street. “This is your place. Why not drop me at mine?”

Josh found a parking place. “I think I need to keep an eye on you.”

“Thank you, Josh,” Sam said. “Are you sure, though? I’ve got some kind of curse going here.”

“I’ll risk it.”

Sam allowed himself to be ushered out of the car. He gazed back at the seat he had just vacated. “I’ll have your car valeted also.”

While Josh poured glasses of whiskey Sam stood still in the living room, careful not to touch anything, careful not to move. Josh pushed a glass into Sam’s hands and watched them shake as he sipped.

“So, why didn’t you call me?” he asked.

For the first time Sam smiled, though it was the faintest of regretful smiles. “I should’ve,” he said. “But I called my dad instead.”

Josh’s cell phone ringing interrupted the story. He gave Sam a warning look. “If you’ve mislaid Excalibur there’s going to be trouble.”

Sam’s expression changed from unhappy to mystified.

It was another unknown number and a man’s voice announced himself as an employee of Santa Monica Hospital.

“Do you know a Mr Sam Seaborn?”

“Yes, he’s -.”

“I’m sorry to inform you Mr Seaborn died yesterday evening in the emergency department here.”

For just a moment the floor and ceiling and walls of Josh’s life vanished and he felt himself falling, felt himself utterly lost. The moment passed, the nightmare evaporated.

“He’s not dead,” he said.

“I’m sorry but he is.”

“No, he’s not.”

“I assure you –“

“He’s standing here.”

“Oh.” Pause. “Are you sure?”

“I can see why you might think he was dead, the way he smells at the moment but he’s not.” Sam looked vaguely offended.

Josh heard the rustling of papers. “Then, sorry to bother you, there’s obviously been a mistake,” the man said before hanging up.

Josh went back to Sam. “Someone just phoned me to tell me you were dead. Any idea why?”

“Because your phone number is in my wallet.”

“Right.” That did not quite answer the question. “I think I need the whole story. So you called your dad. He came and sorted things out for you?”

“He said he couldn’t come because he was on his way out.”

“Asshole. What could possibly –?”

“He had tickets for a Medieval Yuletide Banquet.”

“Again?”

“A Ye Olde Yuletide banquet, Josh. I kid you not he said, ‘you’re resourceful you’ll figure something out’.”

Josh could only hiss out his displeasure.

“I think he was pissed off because he didn’t know I was in town until I called him from, well, jail. But he did say if I got out, he had a spare ticket.”

“Damn, that’s cold. So what happened?”

“Gary threw up on my leg.”

Josh realised there were more important things than getting the whole story. He took the glass from Sam’s hand and steered him into the bathroom.

“But after a few hours I had some luck,” Sam went on. “Mrs Palacsinta called the police to report a man trying to break into her house. This time it was her son.”

Josh began to undo Sam’s tightly knotted tie. “So they let you out?” 

“Yes, plus someone figured out they had a White House employee locked up for breaking and entering and I think the situation must have struck them as too East Coast for comfort and I was fast-tracked. Gary got out too but only because he was annoying everyone by vomiting. Which I would never have thought of.”

“So did he steal your coat?”

“Who, Gary? No, I gave him my coat.” Sam watched as Josh batted his freezing fingers away and started to unbutton his jacket.

“Because –“

“He’s sleeping rough and Josh you form a bond in jail with your cellmates.”

“Extra Shawshank points for that but you formed a bond after three hours with a vomiting drunk?”

Sam shrugged. “He wasn’t a bad guy.”

“Except he stole your phone.”

“I forgot it in my coat. So Gary called you?”

“Me, Toby, he’s got your phonebook, Sam.”

“Oh,” Sam said unhappily then looked up in alarm. “CJ?” 

Josh did not reply. As he unbuttoned Sam’s jacket he uncovered a dried bloodstain on the white shirt underneath. It was a large dark stain just below his ribs. The shirt was torn and there was a white dressing underneath.

“Sam,” he breathed. “What the hell is this? Did Gary do this as well?”

Sam looked down absently. “Oh that, no, that’s a jousting injury.”

“Again?”

“Jousting. You know, as in Ye Olde Jousting.”

Josh absorbed this as he slipped off Sam’s jacket and began to unbutton and remove the ruined shirt.

“You went to your dad’s –“

“Well, it turns out the police are really good at getting you to jail but not much interested in how you get back to where you started from. I couldn’t get a cab to come anywhere near me but the banquet was only a bus ride away. Gary was an expert on which drivers wouldn’t mind taking a passenger who smelt a bit anti-social.

“I thought I could persuade my dad to take me back to my hire car which was outside my mom’s house.” Sam stepped out of his suit trousers with a hand on Josh’s shoulder for support. “The car had my case in it. It still has for all I know. Unless it’s spontaneously combusted or something.”

“But your dad stabbed you in the gut instead?”

“No. He entered me for a jousting contest. I suppose it came to the same thing.” Sam smiled again. “I’m so glad to see you, Josh.”

He smiled back. “Shower? Or Bath?”

“Both twice, I think and sandblasting as well probably.”

Sam showered for fully three quarters of an hour before emerging to shave and clean his teeth with a toothbrush Josh left for him. This seemed to go on for another half an hour.

Meanwhile Josh gathered up the clothes Sam had shed, tied them into a refuse sack and put them outside. He boiled some pasta, heated up sauce and when it was just about ready knocked on the bathroom door. Sam called to him to come in.

Sam was engaged in some frantic face washing but did stop when Josh gave him a hand towel. “Leave a layer of skin on, Sam.”

He was looking better. He had warmed up, his skin was flushed from the shower and his hair, though wet, spiked up healthily. The bruise on his eye was still an alarming sight though and he still looked utterly exhausted. When Josh gave him some sweats to wear Sam easily accepted the help Josh gave him to put them on.

“So when you jousted, did you have armour and horses and that type of thing?” Josh asked later when Sam had finished eating and sat back with his wine.

“Oh yes,” said Sam. “Only they were cardboard. You had to lunge at each other on cardboard horses. I guess you’d call it tacky.”

“I think that would be fair.”

“But the other guy had a real sword did he?”

“No,” said Sam. “But you can actually do a lot of damage with a pointy bit of cardboard.”

“Right, because it was paper cut injuries that lost the Battle of Hastings.”

Sam laughed. “My dad had all this money on me winning the jousting tournament and all I did was run into my opponent’s sword and bend it.”

“And a cardboard sword did that?”

“No, to tell you the truth, I tripped, landed on a quaffing jug. Don’t ask. Broke it and cut myself. I started bleeding all over the carpet. He was so mad.”

“But if the prize was the Holy Grail, you still did better than everyone else because your dad called to say you’ve got to come and get it.”

“You mean I won?” Sam asked. “Well, there you are, every cloud - ”

“And is that how you got that eye?”

“No Queen Guinevere did that with her wimple.”

Josh blinked at him and shook his head. “I’m not going to ask,” he said and began to gather up plates. “Do you want anything else? I’m sure I could rustle up some ye olde roast swan.”

“That was plenty, thanks. Now I just want to lie down somewhere dark.”

“Sofa in front of A Muppet Christmas?”

“Perfect,” Sam smiled warmly. “Absolutely Perfect.”

They took the remains of the wine, switched off all the lights except the ones on the Christmas tree and watched TV side by side on the sofa. While the ads rolled by Josh said.

“Go on then, tell me about Guinevere’s wimple. It’s not a drag act is it?”

“No, she was our glamorous hostess. Arthur and Lancelot were also there and the Knights of the Round Table were the waiters. Anyway when I started bleeding they were worried I was going to sue. Which, in fact I might. So Guinevere said she’d drive me to the ER and when she was getting in the car her wimple, you know those pointy hats Medieval women supposedly wore –“

“Poked you in the eye?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t leave the house again, Sam.”

“It’s really not so bad.”

“It really is.”

“I mean, not compared to what happened in the Emergency Room.”

Josh turned to Sam. “Something worse happened in the Emergency Room? Were you struck by lightning, abducted by aliens? No, I know a piano dropped on your head.”

“A dead guy stole my wallet.”

“Okay,” said Josh evenly. “You mean like a zombie?”

“Not exactly. What happened was Queen Guinevere went back to the banquet and I got talking to this guy when I was waiting to be seen. Which I think was because he’d been punched in the nose and had no sense of smell.”

“Oh, Sam.”

“I know, not my best personal hygiene day. But we got on to the subject of money and when I finished telling him all about the history of the penny I noticed he hadn’t spoken for a while. Turned out he had died.”

“I wish I’d thought of that when you were telling me all about the history of the penny.”

“It was horrible Josh. He was just sitting there with his eyes open, not moving. But the thing is, my jacket was on the chair between us and I noticed his hand was in the inside pocket. He had actually died robbing me.”

“God.”

“So I called some staff over and there was a big drama with doctors and police and when they carted him away and I went back for my jacket the wallet was gone. They obviously assumed that because it was in his hand it was his.”

“Didn’t you get it back?”

“By the time I got to the morgue it had been logged in as personal property and they would only give it to me if I could prove I was his next of kin or fill in about fifty forms.”

“Aah, that’s why they think you’re dead.”

“Yes, it must be. Because I don’t remember dying there.” Sam sounded far from certain of this. “Anyway it was six in the morning by then and I couldn’t face going through a ton of bureaucracy. I still had my plane ticket and enough change in my pocket to get to either the airport or my mother’s house.”

“So what did you do?” 

“I went home.”

Josh paused. “You went to your mom’s?”

“No, I went to the airport.”

“Isn’t California home anymore?”

“I guess it isn’t, though I didn’t realise it until today.” Sam turned to him. “Josh, I know how you feel about family, about not wasting the time you have with them. But you’re the one who said ‘Anything Sam’ when I asked for help. How else do you define home?”

Sam looked away and Josh could not reply.

As the show came to an end Josh became aware of the weary stoop of Sam’s shoulder and, after some deliberation, put his arm around him. Sam did not speak just rested there.

Josh had not drawn down the blinds and they watched the snow falling heavily now, reflecting on the wall in bold silhouetted flakes.

The little Christmas tree’s lights twinkled on and, in the half-light, it did not seem to be such an ugly thing. Josh began to feel an unfamiliar anticipation as the clock turned to midnight and Sam leaned slowly against him.

Sam began to fall asleep, his head dropping against Josh’s shoulder and Josh reluctantly woke him with a finger stroking his cheek.

“Go to bed Sammy.”

Sam nodded and barely awake got to his feet, letting Josh guide him into the bedroom. He seemed to be immediately asleep as he lay down but as Josh started to leave Sam reached and touched his hand.

“Don’t go.”

Josh paused, unsure if he had heard correctly.

“Don’t go,” Sam said more clearly.

“Are you sure?”

“Stay,” he said. “We can go back to panicking in the morning if you like.”

With some hesitation Josh, pulled off his jeans and got into bed on the other side. Sam immediately turned into his arms but he hardly dared respond.

“But Sam, I’m no Gary.”

“That was just a holiday romance,” came the sleepy whisper. “You’re where my heart is.”

Josh thoughtfully and cautiously, folded his arms around Sam, pressed Sam’s head to his chest and agreed that, at last, he too was home for Christmas.

End

January 2006


End file.
